


Tightening Grasp

by LilyOrchard, MikailaT



Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [20]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, War of the Thorns | Burning of Teldrassil, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOrchard/pseuds/LilyOrchard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: The time has come to march to war.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Character(s)
Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939501
Comments: 25
Kudos: 30





	1. Thirsty for Horde Blood

**Year 33 - The War of Thorns**

Anevay arrived in Grommash Hold early in the morning. Sylvanas had called her there to discuss an important matter of war. The time had come to seize Kalimdor and reinforce the Northern Eastern Kingdoms. There had always been too many methods for the Alliance to attack. Too many borders to reinforce and too few forces to cover them. With Theramore gone, Darnassus remained the single biggest vulnerability.

Not anymore. 

“I’m here, my Queen,” Anevay announced as she arrived.

Sylvanas looked up from the war table. She did not smile as she would normally have done, considering this was a matter of work, but Anevay did catch a slight easing of tension in her armored shoulders. 

“High Overlord,” Sylvanas greeted with a nod, pushing herself off from the table she was leaning over. “I have Nathanos overhead. He will ensure that we are not interrupted or overheard.” 

Anevay nodded, glancing up to see Nathanos pacing over the grate on the roof. Anduin Wrynn had recently sent an infestation of spies into Orgrimmar. For what reason, she didn’t know. But it meant that making any plans required the tightest of secrecy and the utmost care to avoid eavesdroppers.

“So, the time has come,” she nodded as she looked over the map of Kaldorei territory. “I’ll sleep better knowing Darnassus is no longer crawling with Kaldorei.”

That statement did bring a small smile to Sylvanas’ face. Her wife’s personal drive to see the Night Elves pushed off the continent was a good signifier of their success. While Anevay’s relationship with her fellow Sin’dorei was complicated, she shared their collective disdain for the self important Kaldorei. 

“Driving them away is important,” Sylvanas confirmed. “Ensuring they never think to return is vital. 

“Darnassus is too difficult a foothold to reclaim,” Anevay nodded. “We take that city, and they’ll never set foot on Kalimdor again.”

Darnassus was only the first phase of the war. The second was eradicating the Silver Hand and Ebon Blade from the Eastern Plaguelands, and opening up a safe land route between Lordearon and Quel’thalas. This would result in only two land borders for the Alliance to push, with the rest requiring heavy naval support. 

Even then, Sylvanas had a way to choke the Alliance off there as well.

“The boy king is still coming to terms with his position and getting all of his fellow Alliance leaders in line,” Sylvanas said, pacing around the war table. “His youth and lack of fighting spirit makes them all question him. A distrust from which we can create a schism.” 

Anevay nodded along with this. It had been the plan from the start. Not just to reinforce the Horde, but to throw the Alliance into disarray. Not only would Anduin still try to broker peace, as it was his ever present and reflexive thought, but the prideful Kaldorei would push against it to try and take their land back. Worse even the schism would be worsened, either by Genn demanding the return of Gilneas before Darnassus, or worse siding with the Kaldorei and widening the crack.

Divide, and crush.

“It is a good strategy, my Queen,” Anevay said aloud. 

“A good foundation at least,” Sylvanas agreed. “But we still need a plan of attack. Something to ensure the Night Elve’s complete and utter defeat and the subsequent schism. A plan that will not result in a schism of our own.” 

Anevay arched a brow at Sylvanas, a silent question for elaboration. 

Sylvanas’ expression shifted slightly. Into something a little more sober and… anxious. “...I am hardly deaf, Anevay,” she began. “I know how little the rest of the Horde trusts me. It is perhaps by your endorsement alone that I have not been ousted by everyone the moment the Legion was defeated. There are even those among my own Forsaken who question my actions during the war. I’m walking upon eggshells in steel boots, and now we are going to war. Taking the initiative. The last Warchief to do such a thing only succeeded in uniting the Horde and Alliance against him.” Sylvanas sighed wearily, leaning back against the table. “I cannot repeat Hellscreams’ mistakes. If this war is to be waged and won, it must be done with… _honor_. But the Horde does not trust me to do such a thing. Not alone.”

Anevay nodded. Though she loathed to admit it, Sylvanas had always been the least popular of the Horde leaders. Even less so than Garrosh just before his ousting. When the discussion of Warchief was being had during Thrall’s departure and Garrosh’s removal, Sylvanas hadn’t even been considered. The Horde acted as if she wasn’t there. And now that she was Warchief, it had always been clear that Anevay’s defense of her was the strongest claim she had to the throne. If she openly declared war, the Horde would grumble and scream. They would divide on their own, and the Alliance would exploit that.

“So you need me to lead a proper, honorable campaign,” Anevay concluded.

Sylvanas nodded. “You have ever been the hero of the Horde, Anevay. Golden in the eyes of the people. It is perhaps the most crucial resource we have at our disposal. If you are the one to lead this assault, they will follow you.” She remains quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voice impossibly soft for that of a Banshee. “...I will defer to you completely for this campaign. We will do it your way.” 

Anevay’s eyes widened. “Y-You? Defer to… me? Oh that’s… that’s weird. That’s not right.”

Sylvanas allowed herself a miniscule hint of a smile as she rounded the table to stand beside Anevay. “I understand that this is quite a shift in the scales between us,” she conceded. “I know that you prefer to remain at least one station below me. Both professionally and personally. But this is important. I would not ask this of you if it wasn’t.”

Anevay took a deep breath and tried to center herself. The notion of commanding Sylvanas made her so uncomfortable that her bones wanted to tear away from her skin in protest. But Sylvanas needed her to lead a clean campaign. A clean campaign that would involve a lot of military and civilian deaths anyway, but apparently there was a way to sell it to the half of the Horde’s people that had assimilated Orc culture.

“Okay,” she said, swallowing her discomfort. “I can do this.”

Sylvanas let out a small, reserved exhale of relief, her slightly smile growing warmer. “Thank you, Anevay,” she whispered, lifting a hand to gently cup Anevay’s cheek. “For whatever consolation it may be. I trust you completely in this choice. Come what may.”

Anevay smiled and leaned into Sylvanas’ hand. “When this is all over, you owe me big time,” she said.

A light, airy chuckle came in response to Anevay’s words. “Oh you will get your just rewards by the end of this, _my pet_.” 

Anevay let out a potent shudder. 

* * *

“We can have the bulk of our ground forces, artillery and air support ready to embark within a fortnight,” Nathanos said, moving the appropriate pieces to represent their forces on the map laid out upon the war table. “The question remains how to use them.”

Anevay looked over the map, drawing out a few paths as she considered the best approach. “A straight line path through Kaldorei territory is really the only option that isn’t wasteful. Their territory is impossible to traverse any other way. So we need to lure the Kaldorei forces away someho-”

That was when it occurred to her. Orgrimmar was crawling with spies. Spies that only existed for the express purpose of posturing. Anduin wanted Sylvanas to know that she couldn’t go to war, because they would be ready for anything they planned.

“Alright. We’re going to let the Alliance spies think we’re moving soldiers to fortify Silithus,” she explained, pulling another map of Southern Kalimdor onto the table. “The Alliance will mobilize their forces to intercept, while we quietly create a foothold through Ashenvale. By the time they realize or get a distress call, we’ll already be in Darkshore.”

Nathanos and Sylvanas turned their attention to the map Anevay laid out, silently pondering over her plan. That certainly wasn’t a bad plan. With the current state of the world and both factions currently scrounging for all the Azerite they could find, the ever gullible SI:7 wouldn’t doubt for a moment that Sylvanas would make a move for Silithus. Once the Alliance realized they had been duped, whatever course of action they chose in response would buy them time to fortify their position. 

“Darnassus is within range of our siege weaponry from Darkshore,” Nathanos supplied, a sinister glint in his burning gaze. “Once we have that, we’ll have all of Teldrassil hostage.”

“Ballistic siege weapons only. All that time right next to sea air has rendered Teldrassil extremely dry,” Anevay explained. “Even a single explosive or lit stone could set the entire thing ablaze.”

Nathanos arched a dark brow at that. “And here I thought you were going to suggest the Blight,” he mused, an air of disappointment in his voice. “Something to ensure nothing in that place would ever grow again.” 

Anevay shook her head. “The Dark Lady wants this done clean so we don’t have a schism of our own to deal with. We blight the tree, we’ll have a full-blown mass outrage on our hands.” She turned her attention back to Sylvanas, looking for her to confirm as much with the Ranger Lord. What she saw instead bordered on… troubling.

To the layman, the expression on Sylvanas’ face would be seen as neutral. Unfeeling. Scary in how stoic and detached it was. But Anevay could see the confliction in her eyes. She could see her debating whether or not to actually Blight the tree and be done with it. She knew her wife didn’t like leaving anything to chance. Ever since she was raised into undeath, almost every battle she fought was a matter of survival. To crush the enemy under her heel and ensure they never threatened her or her people again. She didn’t fight for glory or a misplaced sense of superiority. She fought to win. This campaign, meant to be fought and won with honor, went against her instincts. Anevay knew this. That’s why Sylvanas put her in charge of this operation. She needed her to take the reigns in order to keep her from falling back on her old habits and sabotaging their own strategy. 

But one word from Sylvanas, to Nathanos, and the whole thing could be sabotaged nonetheless.

“...Darkflare is right,” Sylvanas nodded, meeting Nathanos with a firm gaze. “We cannot afford another Theramore. Conventional weaponry and tactics are crucial to this working. If so much as one Blight canister makes it onto that battlefield, this will all be for not.” 

A dreary sigh grumbled in Nathanos’ throat before he turned his attention back to Anevay. “Then we need something to ensure the Night Elves never try to return and take it,” he warned. “Something to send them running.”

“The threat,” Anevay explained. “The night elves practically revere Teldrassil. It’s not just their home, they see it as a gift from their goddess. They actually tried to regain their immortality, but Nozdormu refused to bless it. If we hold Darnassus, the threat of its destruction will be enough to make them hesitate. As well as force a wedge in the Alliance.”

Sylvanas’ eyes narrowed on the map of Northern Kalimdor, her crimson gaze burning with an intense focus as she ran the plan through her mind time and again. “...The Boy King will not budge if he thinks the Kaldorei will lose their home if they do. His bloodthirsty peers will froth at the mouth for his inaction. The schism is formed.” 

Nathanos’ eyes widened slightly, a look of genuine surprise on his face. That was a solid plan. It could actually work. No, it _would_ work.

“There’s another thing. Even with all of this, the Kaldorei could be rallied by their leaders. We need to kill not just their morale, but Whisperwind’s as well,” Anevay explained. “So for this to work, Malfurion Stormrage needs to die.”

Nathanos’ lip pressed into a thin line. “Killing the Archdruid in the heart of his domain,” he mused. “Sounds like a tall order. You certain you are up for the task, High Overlord? I would hate for a Kaldorei of all things to break your current streak of prevailing against impossible odds.”

“We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” Anevay said with a wry smirk. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve to deal with Stormrage. But he is the most crucial part of this campaign. If he dies, the Night Elves will be devastated. _Tyrande_ will be devastated and caged. Even him just being kidnapped by Xavius sent Tyrande into a reckless and borderline suicidal spiral that she wouldn’t have gotten out of if it hadn’t been for me and Silysa.”

“Not unlike yourself if the Dark Lady were to be taken hostage,” Nathanos mused.

“Exactly,” Anevay nodded, surprising the Ranger Lord with how swiftly she accepted that notion.

“...Well, nonetheless, that does raise the question of Champion Bladewing,” Nathanos added. “As a warrior, she’s near your equal on all accounts. If you’re dealing with Stormrage, someone will have to deal with her.”

“Silysa isn’t as much my equal as some like to think. I’m certain you can handle her, assuming she isn’t sent to Silithus with the rest of the Sentinels,” Anevay shrugged. “Call me sentimental, but I’d like her to not be killed if possible, but if it’s unavoidable then so be it.”

“I do call you sentimental, actually,” Nathanos responded, a disapproving lilt to his tone. 

“Your opinion on the matter is hardly relevant Nathanos,” Sylvanas said dryly. “If it comes to the worst, I will handle Bladewing.” She turned her attention to Anevay, seeing a slightly worried furrow in her brow. “If _you_ are sentimental, then she will be doubly so,” she said. “She won’t believe that her friend across faction lines of all people would be the one to stage this assault, which will keep her attentioned fixed on me and not our priority target.”

“Sounds good. There’s further reason to try and avoid killing Bladewing,” Anevay explained. “Jaina Proudmoore is already thirsty for Horde blood. If we kill her wife, she won’t let anyone stop her from unleashing her powers on the Horde and damning the consequences.”

Sylvanas blinked, a look of subtle but definite incredulity growing on her reserved features. “...Bladewing is married to Proudmoore?” 

Anevay nodded. “I found out they were together after I was captured from the Broken Shore. Silysa told me she and her were engaged while we were leaving for Argus.”

Nathanos hummed introspectively, a hand raising to stroke his beard. “The Alliance Champion is married to Proudmoore, while the Horde Champion is married to the Dark Lady.” An amused grin formed on his lip. “Quite the peculiar mirror image, is it not, my Queen?” 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at Nathanos. “We are here to plan a war, Nathanos. Not gossip. In any case, I agree with Anevay. Spare Bladewing if we can. If the Alliance is made impotent by the schism, she won’t be a great threat anyways.”

“Very well.”

“The first thing is to take Astranaar and advance through Ashenvale. So we’ll need the Deathstalkers, Dark Rangers and Shattered Hand to ambush the village and take it out quietly once the Sentinels have been drawn away,” Anevay continued. “Then we can push our forces through the Ashenvale without being detected.”

Sylvanas nodded silently, committing every step of the plan to memory.

“We destroy any spirits and ancients along the way,” Anevay supplied. “Help draw Stormrage out. If we’re lucky, we’ll have his head by the time we reach Darkshore.”

“And with those ridiculous antlers, we can handily drag his head along the dirt if we pleased,” Nathanos added with a vindictive grin.

“See, now you’re getting in the spirit,” Anevay smirked. “Just for that, you can have the head to mount on your wall. The greatest hunt imaginable.”

“Oh you are too kind,” Nathanos chuckled. 

“Business before pleasure, you two,” Sylvanas chided, though with no real force. “But yes. I was right to trust you with this campaign, Anevay. This plan is as close to foolproof as can be without being suspiciously easy.”

“Well planning is one thing. Anything can go wrong,” Anevay shrugged. “The Kaldorei might refuse to take the bait, or an orc could have a sudden attack of honor and let Stormrage get away. Or Silysa could get _you_ cornered and bait me away from Stormrage.”

“We’ve both succeeded against scanter odds,” Sylvanas said with certainty. “This plan is, in any case, the best we can hope for. Everything else will come down to tactics in the moment.”

“I’ll ensure that the SI:7 are informed of our plans to take Silithus, then,” Nathanos concluded with a smarmy nod.

“Trickle the information slowly,” Anevay said as he turned for the door. “Too much too quickly and they’ll get suspicious. Use Saurfang as a vector. He doesn’t need to know the real goal right now.”

“Of course, High Overlord,” Nathanos said, inclining his head a touch too deeply to be sincere. With that, he made his way toward the door to the Throne Room, ensuring it remained locked on his way out. 

When they were certain they were alone, Sylvanas placed a hand on Anevay’s shoulder. “This really is a good plan, Anevay,” Sylvanas said. “I look forward to seeing it through with you.” 

Anevay smiled up at her and placed her hand over Sylvanas’. “Thanks. Though I’m looking forward to it being over so we can go back to the way things are supposed to be.”

Sylvanas let out a single, wry chuckle. “Hate being in command that much, hmm?” she mused playfully. “So far, you’ve technically only given a single order to Nathanos.” 

“It’s the principle of the matter. I might not have issued any orders, but I’m still here,” Anevay huffed. “Don’t like it.”

“Poor thing,” Sylvanas said through pursed lips, turning her hand to brush a hand over Anevay’s cheekbone. “Worry not. I’ve already promised you that this will be worth your while.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Anevay huffed. Already she was melting under her wife’s touch. There was something so intensely powerful about Sylvanas touching her face like this.

The Banshee Queen drew closer until she collected Anevay into her arms, allowing her to rest her chin on her shoulder as she stroked her hair. “This will be among your greatest achievements, Dalah’surfal,” she whispered softly. “With the Alliance finally brought to heel, Azeroth may yet know true peace. And you will be the one who brings it.” 

Anevay sighed and kissed her neck. “I _will_ bring the Alliance to heel. I promise,” she whispered. Already things were feeling normal again with the way Sylvanas held her. “The Forsaken and the Horde will never suffer their zealotry again.”

“Out of anyone else’s mouth, that might sound like a lie,” Sylvanas responded silkily, her clawed gauntlets suddenly grazing against Anevay’s scalp. “I hope you know how much trust I’m placing in you.” 

“I won’t let you down,” Anevay cooed as she practically fell limp in Sylvanas’ arms. How this woman knew exactly how to turn her into jelly, she didn’t know.

“I know you won’t, Princess,” Sylvanas purred right into Anevay’s ear, pride swelling at just how potent her wife’s shudder was. “You’re too eager to return to my side to fail me now.” 

“Yes…” she whispered. “You know, withholding that from me is really cruel.”

“If your reputation wasn’t so critical to this mission, I wouldn’t be withholding it at all,” Sylvanas chuckled. “It’s all your fault for being so competent and endearing.” 

“Well nobody’s around to see us right now,” Anevay pouted, nuzzling into Sylvanas’ neck. 

Sylvanas hummed introspectively, making a show of indecisiveness. She could barely keep the smile from her lips when she felt Anevay whine against her throat. “...I suppose you’re right,” Sylvanas said, suddenly grabbing Anevay behind her thighs and hoisting her up.

Anevay yelped in surprise, but quickly wrapped her legs around Sylvanas’ waist and grinned at her. “That’s so much better, _my Queen_.”

“I couldn't agree more, _pet_ ,” Sylvanas said huskily, carrying her wife towards their chambers. 

* * *

The false intelligence was dripped to the Alliance. Their forces were converging for Silithus. The bait was taken. As dawn drew ever closer to Ashenvale forest, the first and last battle of the war was set to begin. Horde Warriors were restless, eager to charge headlong into the fight. A fight lead by the revered High Overlord of the Horde. The Kingslayer. The Titan Killer. The single most celebrated warrior in all of Azeroth. From the sheer number of Horde soldiers not just recruited but had volunteered for this assault, it was clear how much power and influence Anevay had. If she demanded that every warrior must behead at least a hundred Night Elf civilians, they would ask “How clean a cut?” She could overthrow Sylvanas and claim the mantle of Warchief herself should she desire it. 

Alas, having this much power and unchecked authority was the last thing she wanted.

“Soldiers of the Horde! Today begins the first stage of securing not just our people, but all of Azeroth!” she called out to the soldiers that had gathered in the Barrens. “The Alliance’s free reign in Kalimdor and Lordearon will end! First we’ll drive the Kaldorei from the continent, then the Paladins and Scourge puppets will be eradicated from our territory across the ocean! When this is over, the Alliance will trouble our people no longer!”

The gathered forces erupted in a thunderous wave of cheers and war cries. Orcs, Trolls, Tauren, Forsaken, Sin’dorei and goblins all called out in sheer reverence to their High Overlord. Though they all cried out for the glory of their own homeland and monarch at first, soon they all called in out in harmony. “FOR THE HORDE!”

Anevay smiled and glanced toward the horizon in time to see a flare go off. The way was clear. “Everyone! Move out! We reach Darkshore by midday!”

The warriors did not need to be told a second time. They had all but sprinted out towards the forests before them, weapons drawn and bloodlust insatiable. 

Anevay was thankful for the convenient distraction of the battle to come. She wasn’t sure how long she could handle that unbridled, almost blind praise directed at her. It brought up to many uncomfortable memories of Silvermoon. Of times where she was praised like Belore herself after killing Arthas, only for such worship leading to her being alienated by her own homeland. Supposedly adored by all of Quel’Thalas, and yet she hadn’t a single friend there. That reality nearly drove her to the noose were it not for Nathanos’ timely arrival that day. Since then, things were certainly better, but her hatred of the spotlight did not change. 

The Forsaken had been different. Though they acknowledged her fame, the fact that she was living meant she’d needed to earn their respect and trust the old fashioned way. But once she had, it was like her fame didn’t matter. She wasn’t a Champion to them. She was just Anevay, and they treated her more like family than a famed protector.

And Sylvanas… well, that spoke for itself, didn’t it?

Good memories of the Forsaken had successfully eased the tension that the Horde had put her in, and she was grateful for that.


	2. Belay That Order

Anevay was the first to reach the wisp barrier that had been erected to block their path, face to face with Malfurion as he channeled to keep the wisps organized.

“Already resorting to the wisps, Stormrage?” she taunted. “I’m no Demon. That won’t save you this time.”

The Archdruid snarled at Anevay, his fangs protruding a little further than normal. Likely he was using a partial transformation to make himself appear more formidable. A trick that might work against lesser warriors. But Anevay had faced far scarier threats.  “After saving Azeroth from one of its greatest foes,” Malfurion began in an almost feral timbre, “You would see it delivered into the hands of death?” 

“Always so dramatic, aren’t you? Your precious tree is not that important to the planet,” Anevay rolled her eyes. 

“Your Banshee will not stop at us, wretch,” Malfurion hissed, the wisps flaring with energy in response to his rising temper. “She would see that all life on Azeroth is destroyed and she would use you to do it.”

“You know, one of these days you and I are going to sit down so you can tell me where that idea started from,” Anevay mused. “But not today. Magisters! Set the nearby trees ablaze!”

Forsaken, Sin’dorei and goblin mages eagerly heeded their commands, rasing their hands to call down a sudden storm of flames that wasted no time to tear into the nearby trees. Immediately, the wood began to crackle and hiss as they burned. The wisps around them suddenly cried out in pain, and their power faltered. 

The barrier wavered despite Malfurion’s efforts to maintain it, and it was immediately bombarded with Arcane spells and lit siege rocks. Anevay smirked wickedly at Malfurion as the power was slowly cut off by the loss of the nearby trees.

“Funny thing about fighting a Druid in the forest… the forest needs to be alive.”

“How dare you!?” Malfurion roared, his every muscle taught with strain as he poured all of his power into maintaining the barrier. “I will not allow you to harm the wilds any further!”

“Why Malfurion, I resent that accusation,” Anevay’s smirk widened into a full blown grin. “After all, I’m a Ranger.”

She could see absolute fury burning behind the druid’s eyes, but also something else. Confliction. She saw him begin to squirm as he inwardly debated whether to try and hold this position or move for safer ground. Of course, the longer he pondered, the more the trees around him burned.  The answer came shortly after when he burst into a mass of nature magic and feathers and promptly flew into the forests behind him.

As the barrier fell, Anevay lifted a hand and beckoned her forces forward. “Move. Take this forest for the Horde,” she said silkily.

* * *

“The Kaldorei defenses have scattered. They’re running like roaches in firelight,” Saurfang reported as Sylvanas entered Zoram’gar Outpost. “Darkflare’s been chasing Stormrage down like a predator since we broke the initial defenses. The Archdruid is on the run.”

The report brought a smile to the Dark Lady’s lips. Things were going more smoothly than she could ever have predicted. Without Alliance support, the Kaldorei defenses all but crumbled against their forces. Even the spirits of the wilds could not provide them sanctuary. Victory was all but within their grasp.  The only thing left unaccounted for was Stormrage. Undoubtedly a slippery foe in his own territory. He and his druids likely did everything they could to muster a counterattack and help civilians evacuate. It only succeeded in prolonging the inevitable of course. Any civilians they rescued would most certainly be corralled in Teldrassil, making them all easier targets. The druids themselves were not difficult to pick off without the aid of their master either. She herself had already shot over a dozen of the Talons out of the sky. 

_ ‘It won’t be enough,’ _ she caught herself thinking, causing fresh tension to seize at her shoulders.  _ ‘Even if this goes all according to plan, the Night Elves will still cling to their precious goddess. Cling to Hope. The Sin’dorei still cling to their precious Light. All because you fought to spare them from your own fate. Hope will linger, and the Alliance will make use of it.’ _

“Warchief?”

Sylvanas blinked, her thoughts snapping back to the present. She turned to the source of the voice to see Varok looking at her. His expression was troubled and waried, as if expecting her to suddenly destroy the entire Outpost with a wail and fly off in a frenzy.

“...I am fine,” she said flatly, adjusting her posture before looking back at Nathanos. “How soon until we reach Darkshore?” 

“Our forces are already through and claiming Bashal’aran,” Saurfang explained. “And Darkflare is as… colorful as ever.”

“Colorful?” Sylvanas arched a brow.

“She glibly told Saurfang to give you a kiss for her before she left,” Nathanos chuckled as he watched Saurfang roll his eyes. “No doubt just looking to make the orc squirm.”

Sylvanas arched a brow at Saurfang, nonetheless smirking with amusement at him. “I would applaud your boldness in such an act, Overlord,” she chuckled. “But I shall personally ask you to belay that order for your sake.”

Saurfang huffed and stomped away.

“...I love that woman,” Sylvanas chuckled. “She knows just how to brighten the day.”

“As I said months ago, my Queen. Married life suits you,” Nathanos laughed.

“Ever the astute one, Ranger Lord,” Sylvanas said, turning her attention back to the map over the table. “What of the High Priestess? Have we ensured their precious Moon god won’t grant her any miracles?”

“Darkflare said something about having it under control,” Nathanos shrugged. “Refused to elaborate. I think she’s tainting the moonwells. With what, I’m not sure.”

Sylvanas’ lips quirked with intrigue. Those moonwells were scattered across all of Ashenvale to supply the Sentinels with power. It was how they could muster potent counterattacks so quickly. She had thought that Anevay would seek to claim the wells for themselves and turn their power against the Kaldorei. She hadn’t considered her sabotaging them completely.  One would think that tainting a well of power beyond repair would hit a little too close to home for a Sin’dorei, but Anevay knew a good idea when she saw one. It was always crucial to learn from one's enemies of course.

It served them right of course, Sylvanas thought. For eons the Kaldorei thought themselves untouchable. The greatest race in all of Azeroth simply because they earned the favor of a nebulous entity and the forests around them. It wasn’t even that they relied on powers other than themselves for their strength, but the fact that they were so dependent on powers they could not control. They were driven by faith and hope that the powers they devoted their lives to worshiping would always see to their safety and prosperity.  That was their critical failing as a society, and now they were finally paying the price.

“Keep the pressure on,” Sylvanas decreed.

“Of course, my Queen,” Nathanos nodded. “Darkflare took a full battalion of Dark Rangers and Grunts with her to push deeper into Darkshore. If she hasn’t run off on another hunt, you can probably find her among the front lines.”

Sylvanas found her feet acting almost without thinking and carrying her to the door of the outpost. As well as things were going, she imagined she would feel a great deal more at ease with Anevay in her sights. It was dangerous to leave anything to chance. Even now. 

* * *

Anevay’s blade clashed with the vines, stopping dangerously close to Stormrage’s neck as the elf pushed the aging druid onto his back foot.  “What’s the matter, Stormrage? All worn out from Xavius?” Anevay laughed.  Stormrage forced her back and tried to catch her ankles with roots, but Anevay deftly hopped out of them and drove her foot into his chest, sending him into the dirt.  “Funny. I killed Argus without breaking a sweat.”

Malfurion leered at Anevay in an almost feral rage, though as their fight dragged on, that rage was appearing more and more impotent by the moment. “I did not prevail over the certain destruction of our homeland time and again only to see it raised to the ground by some infantile puppet!”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Anevay prompted with a smirk. “If I cut off one of your limbs, would there be rings I could count to find out exactly how old you are?” 

Malfurion growled and shapeshifted into a bear, charging her down. Anevay only smirked and threw down her warblade, grabbing him by the antlers and hurling him off his charge. She lifted him clean off the ground and slammed him onto his back.

“Please. I wrestle a Garn three times your size just for fun,” she sneered, dusting her gloves off. “And choose something more original than a bear next time. Like a ram. Or a spider.”

An indignant snarl tore from his throat and suddenly Anevay could feel the winds kick up from under her. Strong winds. Strong enough to suddenly lift herself into the air. 

Immobilizing opponents in a cyclone gust was a favored tactic by the druids. One that would leave flightless foes harmlessly indisposed and disoriented for a time. If they weren’t immediately shot out of the sky first, they were often too dizzy to fight back.  The problem with this tactic was that it was practically ancient. Something a druid’s enemy had gotten wise to in the eons of its use. And it was definitely something that Anevay herself was more than prepared for.  The apothecaries had prepared no shortage of potions to supply Horde soldiers with for this very battle. Concoctions that would help them combat anything the Kaldorei had to throw at them. 

Like a potion that could, essentially, calibrate one’s inner ears to combat dizziness. 

Anevay tucked her arms against her chest, increasing the speed at which she spun. Once the cyclone had abated, she twisted and slammed her boot into Malfurion’s waiting jaw. As the Archdruid stumbled, she pulled a runed knife off her belt and threw it straight into his exposed throat.  Malfurion didn’t scream. Very few people could ever scream when cold steel had torn the air from their lungs. His throat began to well with blood, alarm beginning to flood his mind. With what little sense he could muster, he grabbed at Darkflare’s arm, but she wrenched it out of his weakened grasp, tearing the guilty dagger out of his neck as well. Sloppily. He brought a hand to his tattered throat, trying to stop the blood from spilling freely. But… something was wrong. He couldn’t call upon the wild magics to heal himself. He… couldn’t feel the natural world around himself!

“Can you feel that? You can’t feel the wilds calling anymore can you?” She held up the knife, showing him the sickly green runes that dotted the blade. “I’m told the Blight is a horrible thing to experience, as it cuts you off from everything before it finally kills you. It’s a bit like Frostmourne that way.”

She stood up and sheathed the dagger, before picking up her warblade and hovering the tip just over his heart.

“Well… give my regards to the Endless Dark, Archdruid,” she said before she plunged her warblade into his chest.

It had been eons since Malfurion Stormrage ever felt fear this intense. This potent. It had been quite some time since anything less than an old god could strike that kind of fear into this heart.  Alas, in his final moments before he felt cold steel piercing his flesh once more, he neither felt peace or contentment like he assumed he would.  Only terror.

Anevay smirked and wiped her blade on Malfurion’s cloak. It was done. The Archdruid was dead, and with it the Kaldorei’s morale would crumble. She unsheathed another, sharper knife and lifted him by the hair. With a quick slash, his head came free from his body. Just as she was about to depart from the clearing altogether, the sound of quiet footsteps and branches just barely being brushed made her ears twitched. Too soft for any Horde soldier or Sentinel. Too soft even to be a Ranger.  “...Dalah’surfal, come to join me?” she purred, turning to face to the west.

Sylvanas looked to the body at Anevay’s feet, admiring the corpse as though it were a buck that her wife had just hunted. “The front lines told me that you broke off to chase after Stormrage,” she responded. “Clearly, you didn’t need any help.”

“The man gave me a workout at least. I was chasing him around for seven hours. Just gave up and hit him with a Blight knife,” Anevay chuckled, holding up the head. “Think Nathanos will like it?”

Sylvanas walked closer, inspecting the state of Malfurion’s fresh corpse. “...I cannot say he would approve of that sloppy gash along his throat,” she tutted gently. “But I’m sure he’ll appreciate the thought.” 

“Well I’ll stitch it up and taxidermy it first,” Anevay scoffed. “I assume you didn’t want to raise him?”

“A tempting prospect for the audacity,” Sylvanas mused, “but he isn’t worth the strain it would put on my Val’kyr.”

“Alright. Worm food it is,” Anevay smiled as she carried the head along. “Saurfang and Nathanos behaving themselves back at the outpost?”

“As much as can be expected,” Sylvanas said, holstering Deathwhisper onto her back as she walked alongside Anevay. “With you leading this campaign, the former High Overlord has been remarkably complacent, all things considered. I cannot help but wonder if he agrees with your tactics are honorable, or if he isn’t brave enough to challenge you.” 

“Probably the second, because I’ve been blighting Moonwells and my knives,” Anevay snickered. “But I guess if it’s not canisters being hurled out of catapults, the orcs just don’t care. Saurfang only cares about honor for his ego, and even he’s not petty enough to complain about some moonwells.”

“I’ve always known his sense of honor was vain and superfluous,” Sylvanas confirmed. “His rejection of Dranosh was evidence enough.”

Anevay nodded, remembering that time after the Lich King had been slain. Dranosh had been freed during his fight with Silysa, and Silysa had brought the Death Knight to her and wondered what was to be done. Saurfang had rejected his son, and insisted that he be killed so his body could be taken for a funeral. But Anevay had intervened and refused to allow Saurfang to make that decision for him. She’d brought him to Lordaeron and presented him to Sylvanas, who welcomed a freed Death Knight into her ranks.

The two had caught up from time to time since Anevay joined the Forsaken, and Dranosh had been grateful that Anevay advocated for him and helped him get a second chance.

“Dranosh wasn’t in our forces. Did you leave him in Lordaeron?” Anevay asked.

Sylvanas nodded. “With so many of our forces brought in for this assault, he and Belmont have been tasked with keeping Lordaeron secure. Furthermore, I couldn’t trust Varok not to spark outrage if Dranosh was present.” 

“Fair enough,” Anevay nodded as Zoram’gar came into view. “I need to catch up with him. Haven’t spoken to him since I left for Argus.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again,” Sylvanas said warmly. “There are few people he respects as deeply as you.”

Anevay smiled and wrapped her free arm around Sylvanas’ waist. “You always say the sweetest things.”

“Yes, but that’s our little secret,” Sylvanas said with a playful smirk, leaning into Anevay’s touch. “Tell another soul and you will suffer the consequences.”

“Consequences? I’m listening,” Anevay purred.

Sylvanas opened her mouth to respond, something positively depraved on the tip of her tongue, when another voice interjected.

“You both seem rather calm for being in a warzone,” Nathanos mused with a drawl, his eyes falling upon the severed head Anevay was dragging along throughout their entire conversation. “I take it that the deed is done then?”

“Indeed it is,” Anevay smiled, holding out the head. “I believe I promised you one trophy for your wall, antlers included?”

A positively devious grin spread on Nathanos’ face as he accepted the gift, grabbing the other antler and holding the head aloft. “Not a bad job, Princess. Not bad at all. I only wish I could see the look on the High Priestesses face when she finds his headless corpse.” 

“I’m sure you’ll hear the scream all across the forest,” Anevay smirked, before turning her attention back to her wife. “Our forces breached their front lines an hour ago. By tonight, we’ll be prepared to invade Darnassus.”

“Marvelous,” Sylvanas said silkily. “I daresay that this entire campaign has been proceeding perfectly. Let’s just hope I don’t get shot in the back this time.” 

“If you think I’m letting that happen again, you’ve got another thing coming,” Anevay smirked, squeezing her waist tighter. 

* * *

Sylvanas, Nathanos, Anevay and Saurfang advanced on the shoreline as brushfires burned. There were a few surviving Sentinels lying injured on the beach. They would be taken prisoner, given their inability to keep fighting. One glance down the shore and Anevay spotted Silysa sitting against a tree and treating her wounds. A small pang of sadness washed over her. Their friendship would likely not survive this occupation. The one friendship she was able to find for herself after the Fall.  A necessary loss. She learned from the mistakes Deathweaver made and would ensure not to make them herself. Still, that didn’t mean it was painless for her.

“Secure the beach,” Sylvanas commanded. “Prepare to invade the tree.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Nathanos nodded, directing their forces to spread out and establish a foothold.

“W-Why?” came a voice, ragged and breathless, but loud enough to catch the Banshee Queen’s attention. Her crimson gaze fell upon a Kaldorei woman, her back littered with arrows, who nonetheless managed to push herself to her knees. “Y-You’ve already won,” she continued in between shallow, labored breaths. “Only innocents remain in the tree.” 

“This is war,” Sylvanas said dismissively, kneeling down to the Kaldorei’s level.

Anevay turned away and directed their soldiers to ready the catapults for travel across the ocean, when she noticed Saurfang staring at the tree. “Something on your mind, old man?”

The orc shifted his yellow eyes to Anevay, his aged face riddled with lines of tension. There was a moment's hesitation, as though he was weighing whether or not to truly speak his mind to the High Overlord. Eventually, the troubles that plagued his mind won out, and her spoke. “...This isn’t enough,” he said gruffly, looking back at the tree. “Not for her.”

Anevay rolled her eyes. “Stormrage is dead, Darnassus is ours, this seems like exactly what she wanted in the first place.”

“It’s not enough for her,” Saurfang repeated, shaking his head. “She won’t stand for anything less than completely destroying these people’s hope.” He turned to face Anevay completely, a frown of certainty on his tusked mouth. “ I’ve seen it in her eyes this entire campaign, High Overlord. She’s barely been holding herself back. Driving them back wasn’t enough. Desecrating their forests wasn’t enough. Killing their leader wasn’t enough. So long as there is anything of theirs left standing, she’ll want it destroyed.” 

“You and the other Horde leaders have been saying that about Sylvanas for years and you’ve never been right before,” Anevay shrugged as she glanced at her wife. Sylvanas was turning the Ranger’s face toward Teldrassil.

“That was before she was Warchief. When there were those who kept her power in check. But that is not the case any longer.”  His eyes turned to Sylvanas, who was kneeled over the injured Night Elf, whispering something that he could not hear, though he knew it couldn’t have been good. “Even now, with the enemy beaten and bloody before her, she twists the blade. It’s not enough to win for her, Darkflare. Her enemies must suffer as she has suffered. You must realize this is true.” 

“Don’t give me that crap, Saurfang. Men have been saying that for eons, and it’s never once been true,” Anevay scoffed, turning away from him and returning to Sylvanas’ side just in time to hear her last words to the Ranger.

“...Can’t I?” she asked, standing up and staring at the tree that waited for them. The tree she’d just ordered to invade. “...Burn it.”

Anevay’s eyes widened, her entire body going stiff. In fact, she was fairly certain that her heart stopped for but a moment. Did Sylvanas just…? She couldn’t have just said that, could she? A quick glance over to Nathanos proved that he was just as surprised and confused as she was, his thick brow furrowed as he wondered if he actually heard Sylvanas right. 

The silence was deafening. Though perhaps to Sylvanas, it was aggravating, as she turned around to look at the both of them and repeated, fiercely, “BURN IT!”

Nathanos seemed to snap out of his stupor and immediately headed for the nearest catapult, grabbing a torch from a grunt. 

Anevay watched as he covered the stone in oil and lit it. He was about to do it. In that moment, all the potential consequences of this rushed through her. The Alliance would rally. They would unite harder than they’ve ever had, and a schism would form in the Horde that would never recover.

“Belay that order!” She yelled just before Nathanos could release the catapult. Even as she said that, the panic did not ebb. Nathanos’ absolute loyalty to Sylvanas rivaled her own. Despite the firmness in her voice and the rank she held over him, there was a definite possibility he would ignore the countermand and set off the catapult. 

To her partial shock and absolute relief, he stayed his hand. 

“ _ High Overlord, _ ” Sylvanas said through clenched teeth, suddenly leering at Anevay. “What are you doing?”

“Can I talk to you?” Anevay said, gesturing further down the beach and away from their forces.  _ “Alone? _ ”

The crimson glow behind the Warchief’s eyes flared with indignance and outrage. The urge to deny that request, to reprimand Anevay for disrespecting her command, was palpable. In the periphery of her heated gaze, however, she noticed something. 

All eyes were on them. Nathanos. Varok. The injured, tearful Kaldorei just at her feet. Countless Horde warriors within earshot. All of them were looking at the pair, confused, uncertain, or even downright terrified at what was about to happen. 

The sight made Sylvanas convulse internally. Too many eyes were on her. She was angry when she was supposed to be stoic. She was heated when she was supposed to be calm. She was supposed to be in control, but that control was slipping. And too many eyes were on her in the meanwhile. 

Slowly, silently, she nodded, walking towards the end of the beach that Anevay gestured to.

As soon as they were far enough away, Anevay rounded on her wife. “What the hell are you doing?! You were just about to ruin everything we’d worked toward! Everything you asked me to do!”

Sylvanas’ gaze grew hot again, the flames of her anger rekindled in the wake of Anevay’s scrutiny. “This isn’t enough!” Sylvanas hissed through bared fangs. “That woman over there is on death’s door and she is still preaching about life and hope! Their leader is dead and these people won’t let go of hope. Simply holding the tree hostage won’t be enough to destroy their will to fight. So long as it stands, the Alliance will come for it. It has to burn!”

“Sylvanas, burning it down and killing everyone inside of it won’t destroy their hope either! It never does!” Anevay exclaimed. “It’ll only unite the Alliance against a threat to their way of life, and it won’t divide them! This will stop being just another faction war to them, and it’ll become an actual threat to Azeroth on the level of the Burning Legion or the Scourge!”

Sylvanas flinched at that. Violently. From the look on her face, Anevay could tell that she had plucked a nerve.  “...Is that what you think me to be?” she asked, her voice suddenly low, but raw with emotion. “Just another Lich King?”

“No. But the Alliance will rally and unite as if you were if you burn this tree down,” Anevay said, stepping close and laying a hand on Sylvanas’ cheek. It was enough to temper the anger and hurt she could see in her wife’s eyes. At least enough to help her reign in her sudden bloodlust. “Dalah’surfal, we have a chance to put the Alliance on the back foot and slowly erode them away. I am begging you, please don’t throw that away just to make a point to this one dying Ranger.”

Sylvanas bit back a slight whine, almost overwhelmed with the desire to just lean into Anevay’s touch. Even now, she was trying to keep it together. To appear in control again.  Because her wife was right. This wasn’t about strategy. This was about catharsis. They had already accomplished what they set out to do. It shouldn’t have mattered what that one Sentinel thought. 

_ “You cannot kill hope.” _

Those words. They caused a burning coil of rage to tighten around her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to prove that woman wrong in her final moments. To see that cherished hope leave her eyes as Teldrassil went up in flames. To prove that no one could hold onto such meaningless mantras like hope and honor when they’re faced with such suffering.  But Anevay was right. It would only make the situation more complicated. Honor. Hope. These things meant nothing to her, but they meant everything to the living. If this war was to be won, she had to understand it. Abide by it. 

“...Ready our transport,” Sylvanas said quietly, her gaze turning back up to Anevay. “We account for everyone within the tree and send them on a ship back to Stormwind.”

Anevay breathed a sigh of relief and gently pulled Sylvanas into a soft kiss. “Thank you, Dalah’surfal. This is the best way to proceed, trust me.”

“I do,” Sylvanas whispered, leaning into Anevay’s touch.

As they both returned to their forces at the beach, the injured Kaldorei hiding behind a tree finally let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been seen. As Silysa finished wrapping her wounds, she couldn’t help but think about how close her people had come to destruction.  Sylvanas was going to kill every last Kaldorei in Teldrassil. And Anevay stopped her.

Anevay had saved her people.


End file.
